’ Fury was in her face. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. The two young fools laughed until they cried. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation.
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